


Astride a Pale Horse (The Red Rider)

by HigherMagic



Series: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Biting, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, M/M, Murder, Religious Content, Rickyl Writers' Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: The first alternate ending, set during the fire scene on the Greene farm.





	Astride a Pale Horse (The Red Rider)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting the first of these alternates. I think you'll see why I chose not to end it here!

"I think I might have just been crazy all along. I think all of this…all the things I done, the things I've made Daryl do…and I don't know if it's actually going to do anything. What if I'm wrong? What if War and Death are gone and -?"

_And I won't even be around to see if I'm right?_

"Rick…" Shane reaches out, his hand warm when he touches Rick's shoulder. Rick flinches and tenses up under the touch.

"I have to know, Shane," Rick says, and lifts his head to look at the other man. "I have to know – did you kill Ed? Did you let Otis die? Please, tell me. Please, I promise I won't tell anyone else, not even Daryl. Please."

Shane's eyes are dark, unreadable in the night air. Rick starts to shake when Shane's hand withdraws and he thinks he might already know the answer. Rick wonders what weapons Shane might have on him right now. He wonders, if they both drew, who would fire first.

"Please," Rick says. "Just tell me."

Shane sighs and rubs a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. "I didn't let Otis die," he says, and Rick doesn't even know if he believes him or not. "I…thought about killing Ed. More times than I wanna admit. I thought about how I'd do it, how I'd…fuckin' wrap my hands around his throat and give him bruises to match Carol's, watch the light go outta the sonuvabitch's eyes." He breathes deeply. "But I didn't kill him."

Rick shakes his head, whining softly, and runs his hands through his hair.

"Michonne said there's a herd comin'," Shane says. "That true?"

Rick nods. "We should keep watch on the hillsides, make sure they don't get the drop on us. Be ready to move."

"You think they'll come this way?"

"I've learned not to believe anywhere's safe anymore," Rick replies. He looks up and draws in another deep breath. "Shane, if anything happens, you gotta promise you won't come lookin' for me. That you won't come back. That you'll take Lori and Carl and _go_."

"I can't do that, brother," Shane says. His voice sounds different, rougher, growling, and Rick turns to look at him again. The firelight gleams off the golden crown on his head and Shane reaches out, squeezing his shoulder again. There's a sword in the grass between them, and War smiles. "It's you and me 'til the end of the world, right?"

Rick is shaking, trembling finely under Shane's touch. Fear has coiled itself up tightly in his chest and he manages to nod, slowly, and tries not to think about the glint of rubies in Shane's crown and how it matches the stain of red on his wrist.

"Yeah," he croaks. "I guess that's how it's gotta be."

 

 

The days pass tensely. Carl gets more color to him, revived by the IV bags. Daryl spends most of his time in the forest. Carol starts teaching Andre how to write in Beth's old notebooks. Michonne has taken a shine to Troublemaker and Bailey and helps groom and bathe them with Maggie and Beth. The barn continues to smoke and smolder. Rick wonders when the fire will finally go out.

 

 

War walks through the soft grass, each footfall echoing and thundering like the charge of a thousand horses, the blare of trumpets rising up around him. His face is masked by a shield of chain metal, falling in an iron curtain around his head and held in place by the golden crown that shimmers and gleams in the lights coming off of the RV.

Rick stands, his chest tight and his heart hammering wildly against the back of his ribs. There’s red on War’s hands, coating him finely, and Rick swallows hard and goes past the fence separating the horses from the rest of the farm. He ducks under a rotting piece of wood marking the entrance of the gate. It will sag and crumble if given more than a light knock, he’s sure.

War stops, framed by the gaping maw of the barn’s open doors. It’s huge, blacker than the black of the night sky, like a great beast is roaring and ready to leap into action at War’s command. War doesn’t turn his face, but the sword held at his side tilts out as though in offering.

Rick knows he’s not seeing what’s real. There is no man clad like a knight or a King standing before him, but he knows that something terrible has happened. Or is about to happen. He hears Troublemaker snort behind him and looks away to see the animal tossing his head, ears flat back as though in anger or fear. He lets out a shrill whinny and when Rick turns back around, War is gone.

His eyes widen and he breaks into a sprint, giving chase immediately. If anyone notices or calls his name he doesn’t answer and he doesn’t hear it. His heart is racing and his blood is pounding and he sprints towards the barn and into it, panting heavily as he skids to a halt inside. The stench of blood and rotting flesh in here is overwhelming. He wants to burn it to the ground.

He hears a horse and turns around, his back to the darkness. His skin crawls as he feels the shadows behind him creep up, like physical things, intent on ripping him limb from limb. His wrist aches terribly.

Death is at the entrance to the barn, astride his pale horse, and the horse whinnies and rears up a little, before pawing at the ground. Death grins at him, and lifts his arm, pointing out towards the fields and the forests.

 _That way_ , he says.

Rick smiles and nods, pressing his lips together as he runs out of the barn and up the hill. He isn’t a tracker like Daryl but he can see where the grass has been pushed flat under War’s boots, can see the singe of fire and ash against them as the horseman burns everything he touches.

He crests the top of the hill and stops. This place looks familiar – there should be a campfire at the bottom of the hill and the other horsemen gathered around it. But of course, they can’t anymore, because Rick killed them. His chest goes tense with anxiety because he can’t see War or the fire, it’s too dark.

“I know you’re here,” he whispers, turning around and searching this way and that. All that spreads out below him is grass and the dark shadows of the trees. He can see the white silhouette of the Greene house a short distance away. He can hear Daryl calling for him.

But that might not be Daryl at all. War is too good at distracting him. They all were, but Rick has to be smarter and stronger. He has to be able to resist.

He turns when he hears a man panting, heavy thuds against the ground like he’s being rushed. He turns and his eyes go wide as he sees Shane, running up the hill towards him. There’s a knife in his hand and a smear of blood across his fingers.

Shane slows to a stop like he didn’t expect Rick to be here. He’s breathing heavily, his forehead and upper lip shining with sweat. Rick licks his lips, his hand dropping to his empty pistol for a moment, and he nods to the knife.

"Whose blood is that?" he asks.

Shane looks down at his hand, as though surprised at seeing the smear of red there. He lifts his hand to wipe it over his mouth and his fingers leave a smear of blood on his cheek. "Wasn't one of our own," he says, stepping forward, and Rick takes a step back.

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Does it matter?" Shane demands, and then strides past Rick and towards the crest of the hill. "I'm gonna keep watch. You said the herd was comin'."

"Shane, wait," Rick says, reaching for him and following him for a short run until the other man stops, gazing out to where the field becomes trees. He's holding his knife tightly in his hand and as Rick watches he thinks it might be growing to a sword's length. Shane turns around to look at him, jaw clenched and eyes dark. Rick can't see anything of his face.

Shane regards him coldly, the gold on his crown glowing as though lit from a fire within it. Rick's mouth is dry and it feels like he can't speak. He takes a step forward and whispers; "Whose blood is that?"

Shane's mouth twists, and he shakes his head, looking away. Rick is suddenly aware that there _is_ a fire, and it's burning brightly enough to show Shane's face. He looks over his shoulder and his eyes go wide when he sees that the barn isn't the only thing smoking, but the Greene house as well. There's a fire.

"Shane, what did you _do_?"

"I did what had to be done," Shane snaps back, glaring at Rick. He takes a step forward, hand clutching his knife tightly. "That's what you've been sayin' all along, ain't it? We gotta protect our people from anythin'. Well, that's what I'm doing. Lori and Carl are _mine_ now, and they're safe with me."

"I don't know if that's true," Rick says weakly. His eyes are on the knife, but it's a sword now, and it shines in the firelight. He can hear horses braying somewhere in the distance.

His hands are starting to feel cold, it sweeps up his spine and into his head. Shane is still glaring at him, chest heaving and stance as big as he can make it like he's trying to physically intimidate Rick. Such is War's way.

"Are you going to hurt me, Shane?" he asks, and lifts his eyes to meet his friend's.

Shane blinks at him, pressing his lips together and trapping his tongue between them. "I don't want to," he says. "But I feel like I need to."

"I know," Rick replies with a nod. "You've been seeing awful things too, haven't you?"

"Yes," Shane whispers, and it's as close to a confession as Rick thinks he might get. They stand like that, Shane has a knife and Rick has a gun but it's empty. It's empty but Shane might not know that. He doesn't have any other weapons.

"I have to survive," Rick says, stepping forward. "But you can, too. We don't have to do this."

The lie feels sour on his tongue. Shane is War, and War is brash and brazen and doesn't care for subterfuge in the heat of a battle. It's all a trick, he has to believe that. He _has_ to believe that. He hears snarling, faint, and lifts his head to look towards the tree line.

Shane immediately lunges for him, slashing at his chest with the knife and Rick shies back, hissing when it catches his wounded arm, and holds it to his chest. Shane growls, pacing around him and Rick's eyes are wide as he tries to keep as much distance between him and Shane. He can't run back to the group, he doesn't know what will happen if he does, or who Shane will turn on – Shane just lit a fucking fire in the house where Carl is. He has to go back and get Carl. Daryl might not know.

Walkers emerge from the trees. First one or two, and then five, and then a dozen. Rick stops and looks at them, his breath catching in fear, and Shane pauses just long enough to look at them as well.

"Holy shit," he whispers, then he looks at Rick. "The herd."

"We have to get back," Rick says.

"No," Shane replies. War doesn't retreat. "We have to finish this _now_."

"I don't want to hurt you," Rick says, and it feels like he's begging. His hand is too numb to feel the sluggish leak of his own blood and his entire body feels cold. He shakes his head. "I don't want you to hurt me."

The walkers have seen them. They're coming for them. Rick breathes out and his breath mists in the air.

Shane growls and lunges for him again but instead of shying back Rick meets him, slamming his hand against Shane's chest and bringing his knee up so that he can kick at Shane's knee, snapping it in one hard kick. Shane goes down to one knee with a thud, looking up with wide eyes, and slashes up with his knife and Rick grabs the blade in his good hand and uses the momentum to wrench it out of Shane's hand.

He wants to throw it away, but as soon as he touches it he sees the blade turn into a scythe and it's like he has no control over his hands when he turns the knife and cuts it back down. He doesn't mean to do any damage, though truthfully he isn't sure if that statement makes him a liar. He cuts down and the knife catches Shane's arm and lodges into the muscle there.

He kicks his knee into Shane's chest and sends him into a contorted sprawl on the ground and falls to his knees over Shane, bringing the knife back up and slamming it down into his chest. There are tears in his eyes and Shane grunts, his eyes wide as he clutches at the knife.

There's so much blood, welling up from the wound that punctured one of Shane's lungs. It's warm and oozing around his fingers as he plunges the knife in, again and again and again. Shane grunts with every hit, refusing to die, refusing to give in. His fingers clutch at Rick's chest and his wrists and his neck, scratching weakly there and smearing blood over Rick's clothes and skin.

Rick shrieks, yanking the knife back out, and falls back, holding it tightly as Shane chokes on his blood and turns his head to stare at Rick with wide eyes. Rick shakes his head, clenching his eyes tightly shut and holding the knife with both hands to his forehead.

"It didn't have to be like this," he whines, and Shane groans, reaching for Rick. Rick looks up and sees walkers converging on him, driving by the call of their master, but they hit Shane first and fall over him, tearing at his flesh.

"No!" Rick yells, because he has to be the one to end Shane's life. He has to kill War – not the undead, not disease, not old age. War has to die in a fight. He throws himself back over Shane's body and stabs him once, as hard as he can through the head.

He screams when he feels a walker grab his knife-wielding hand and yank his arm away, biting at his wrist. He yanks his arm back and grits his teeth as he feels the flesh tear and his hand grows limp. Heat explodes from the bite and he feels it crawl up his arm like a thousand insects, and another walker grabs at his neck and he shoves himself upright and kicks away from them. A few busy themselves with Shane's body but there are more and Rick grits his teeth, stabbing the closest one in the skull.

There are too many of them. Far, far too many of them. They're on him at all sides, clawing at his boots and jeans, grabbing his arms. Another one bites his injured arm, higher up and just shy of the elbow and Rick cries out in pain, gritting his teeth again.

This is what was meant to happen. The plague will claim him and then it'll be the end – but it can't be the end. He feels like there's something _missing_. He can't help feeling that, after everything, he will still have failed.

The shape of Shane's body is covered in the sprawling mass of the dead and there are more around Rick and even more still walking towards the house and Rick screams, hoping that someone will hear him, that they will see the herd coming and know to run.

Then, there's a sound. It shatters the air like the blare of a claxon. It sounds like the horn of Gabriel, heralding the apocalypse. The dead go still – but not completely still – as though everything is moving in slow motion.

Death walks towards him, parting the sea of the dead as though they are no more consequential than grass under his feet. His horse walks behind him. Behind that horse is War's, bleeding red from the stab wounds Rick laid to his master. Then Pestilence's horse, bloody at the mane and its brain exposed. And Famine's follows last, its face and neck shredded beyond recognition.

Rick falls to his knees in front of Death, wincing when the dead converge around him as though in slow motion, and the tears start to fall. He looks up into Death's grinning face and thinks that this is it – this is what he was waiting for. His arm burns from the bites and there's another walker gnawing through his clothes and soon it'll break through and bite him there as well.

Death reaches out to him and Rick raises his hand and returns his scythe to him. It becomes a knife again as soon as Death touches it.

"Is it done?" he asks.

Death grins at him. _When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying…_

"Come", Rick says when Death falls silent, heaving a breath. He's starting to feel sick, his head thick with cold fog but his arm burning.

 _"Come,"_ Death repeats. _I looked, and behold! An ashen horse, and he who sat on it had the name Death._

Rick smiles, his shoulders shaking with relieved sobs.

"Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth," he says, and Death nods. Death reaches out, his long fingers of bone touching the nearest walker. Rick watches with wide eyes as the walker straightens, moving in real time, and starts to wither to nothingness in front of him. "…To kill with sword…" War's horse tosses his head, snorting softly, and nudges at the walkers by Shane's body. They fall just as the first one hand, crumbling to dust and carried away by the breeze. "…And with Famine and with Pand by the wild beasts of the earth."

Pestilence and Famine's horses join their brothers, as Death and War's horse nudge at the remaining walkers with their bloody muzzles, or brush them with their tails, or push at them with their hooves. Each and every one they touch is wiped away and then Rick sees them giving chase to the others, one to each direction of the compass, and one by one, they start to fall. Soon it is only Death and Rick there in the field and time flows back hard enough that Rick gasps, struck with the feeling of his rapidly beating heart and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

 _You have done well,_ Death says, holding his hand out to Rick, who takes it with his good hand and struggles to his feet. _I knew I had chosen you for a reason._

Rick looks down at his bloodied arm. He's been bitten, which means he will die, and he will turn and be wiped away by one of the horses or by Death himself. Maybe Death will be the one to finally ferry him away.

The air feels different – cleaner somehow. The fire is still burning but Rick can see Daryl rush into the house. Beth stumbles out, coughing, and then he sees Daryl carrying Carl, still shouting for him, and Rick breathes a sigh of relief.

 _This was Pestilence's finest plague,_ Death says, joining him in watching. _No cure, no hope. They held my rightful kingdom from me, but now that I am the last one, I may reclaim what should be mine. What is dead will remain dead, now._

Rick nods, licking his lips, and looks down at his arm again. "Am I dead?" he asks.

Death cocks his head to one side. _Do you feel dead?_

"No," Rick says. "No. I don't feel like you at all anymore."

A walker snarls, rising from the crest of the hill, and Rick watches as Death's horse charges at it, sweeping it away. As soon as the horse touches the walker it explodes in a shower of dust that mar's the horse's gleaming pale coat. The horse slows to a trot, then a walk, tossing its fine, regal head, and walks over to Rick.

Rick reaches out on instinct, petting the horse's face, and the horse snorts and brushes its muzzle against his bitten arm. Rick hisses, tensing up, and watches as parts of his hand wither away, flesh melting and shriveling at the touch until he has no muscle there, little more than a hand. The skin is black and dead. It falls limply to his side, unable to be held up anymore.

Rick sighs, looking back at Death. "So it is done."

 _Yes_ , Death says. _I suppose that's that._

"People will be scared."

 _Yes_.

"They'll need help recovering in the new world."

Death lets out a low laugh. _I cannot make you die, Rick,_ he says. _But our contract is ended. Now you are no longer under my protection and guidance. Neither is your disciple, or anyone else I promised not to take._

Rick nods. "That's fair," he says. He looks down at his hand again. The fingers are twitching as though only his arm has died, just below the elbow. The disease hadn't had time to spread up and touch his heart or his head.

He looks back at Death. "I was prepared to die," he says.

_I know. I would have enjoyed your company._

"I don't want to die anymore."

Death nods, still grinning when he turns and regards Rick. His horse comes to him and Death pets a hand through the horse's mane, before he hands his scythe back to Rick and it becomes a knife once more, wet with Shane's blood. Death mounts his horse in a smooth motion and the animal snorts, ears forward and ready.

 _There is much to be done,_ he says.

Rick smiles. "Thank you," he says, and Death cocks his head to one side. "Thank you for letting me see the end of it."

 _This is not the end,_ Death replies, his voice like the slab of stone on and old tomb sliding back into place. _It is never the end for me. Farewell, Rick Grimes. I will see you again._

Rick nods, and Death turns his horse and it whinnies, rearing up and kicking the air in victory. It is the only time Rick has seen the otherwise stoic animal show any sense of pride or the God-like power his master possesses. Rick raises his withered hand in a farewell and Death gallops away, out into the night and out of sight.

Rick hears Daryl calling for him, and he turns to see Daryl sprinting up the hill. "Rick!" he yells, and slows to a stop when he sees the bites on Rick's arm, his withered hand, and the bloody corpse of Shane laying nearby. His eyes are wide with disbelief and he looks out towards where Death had disappeared to. "Rick, I -. Was that -?"

"You saw him?" Rick asks, hardly daring to believe.

Daryl nods, and then seems to remember himself and closes the rest of the distance between him and Rick. He touches Rick's chest and it feels like a hit of heat, spreading out through Rick's whole body. Rick gasps, falling to his knees and Daryl meets him there, holding him by the hands tightly.

"It's over," Rick says, looking over to Shane. "He was War. The walkers…they're falling."

"I saw," Daryl replies. "I saw the horses."

Rick lets out a heavy sob, new tears forming and falling from his eyes, running down his face. He leans forward until his forehead is pressed against the backs of Daryl's hands, and lets the knife drop.

Daryl rests against him, his lips pressed to the back of Rick's head. "It's okay," he says quietly, and moved one hand to fist in Rick's hair, holding him tightly when he presses a kiss there. "You were right. You were right all along. It's over now."

"I know," Rick says, shaking his head. He doesn't move otherwise. "I know. It's done."

Daryl kisses him again and it feels like benediction, like cleansing water. Rick heaves a breath and doesn't know what to do with his hands. He straightens up and Daryl kisses him fully, his hand still in Rick's hair, and Rick gasps and answers him in kind, clinging to Daryl's shirt with his good hand.

"You got Carl out," he says.

Daryl nods, breathless. "I had to," he replies. "Saw the flames, knew he was still in there."

"It was Shane," Rick says. "It was Shane who started it. I'm sure."

"Guess it doesn't matter now," Daryl says, his eyes flashing to the mesh of blood and flesh that it what's left of Shane's body. "Come with me," he says, and stands, holding his arm out to Rick, who takes it and lets Daryl help him to his feet. "You're…done, right? You said it's all over?"

Rick nods. "I'm staying," he says, and doesn't miss the flash of relief in Daryl's eyes. "It's time to rebuild the new world."


End file.
